A Gentleman's Bargain

by Patricia Waddell

  Garrett's mind raced as Christopher continued his storytelling, jumping from the fisticuffs in the hotel lobby to the social gossip that kept tongues wagging on Nob Hill.

  Maybe a fiancée would satisfy Grams?

  Yes. That would do it. If Grams thought he'd finally found the right woman, then maybe she'd stop worrying about him and start worrying about her health.

  But the imaginative solution brought about another problem.

  What lady in her right mind would agree to an engagement for the mere sake of prolonging Theodora Monroe's life? None that Garrett could name. He wasn't vain, but he knew enough about socially acceptable young ladies and their greedy mothers to know that he wouldn't find a fictitious fiancée among the elite of San Francisco. He was the most eligible bachelor in town and one of the wealthiest men in the state. Few women would draw in their claws once they'd hooked him.

  “What are you frowning about now?” Christopher asked.

  “I need a woman,” Garrett grumbled.

  Christopher Landauer's smile was pure devilry as he poured himself a drink. “From what I hear, the one you brought back from London should be able to take care of whatever needs arise. Andy told me she's very pretty."

  Andy was the hotel clerk who handled discreet errands and messages for Christopher. He was tall and thin with deep-set brown eyes and pale skin that turned ruddy in the summer. On occasion Garrett availed himself of the young man's services. He had employed Andy to drive the carriage that had delivered Evelyn Holmes to the cottage on Bartlett Street.

  “Evelyn isn't the kind of woman I need,” Garrett said as he turned away from the window. “She's pretty enough, but she'll never be able to fool Grams. The old woman's heart may be failing, but her eyes are as sharp as ever."

  “What are you talking about?"

  “Fooling Grams into thinking that I've met my match,” Garrett said impatiently. “If she thinks I've fallen head over heels in love, she'll stop badgering me about my future happiness and start doing what Dr. Baldwin says she should do—rest."

  Christopher placed the top on the crystal decanter with calm precision then looked at his friend as if Garrett had lost his mind. “And how do you plan on finding the right woman? Are you going to place an ad in The Chronicle and hope that a gifted actress appears on your doorstep?"

  “It would be easier if the lady wasn't known in San Francisco,” Garrett mumbled more to himself than to his doubtful friend. His silver eyes took on a mischievous sheen as he put down his whiskey glass. “In the last year I've spent time in London, New York, St. Louis, and New Orleans. Pick a city."

  Christopher's skepticism turned into amusement as he realized Garrett was serious. “I've always been partial to New Orleans, but I can't see Grams accepting an ebony-eyed Creole enchantress as her future granddaughter-in-law."

  “You're right. New Orleans is too exotic. What about St. Louis?"

  “What about it?” Christopher mused as he leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the top of his desk. “You don't really think you can get away with conjuring up a fiancée, do you? Actress or no actress, someone is sure to find out the girl is a fraud. Grams will have an old-fashioned conniption fit before she keels over for good, and you'll have a scandal on your hands."

  “There won't be a scandal,” Garrett told him. “Not if I find the right woman."

  * * * *

  Claire sucked in a deep, unladylike breath as she silently cursed her aching feet and the afternoon heat. She was exhausted from soliciting a position in the business district that fronted San Francisco Bay. Her skills were limited but she could read and write and she wasn't too proud to do an honest day's work. The proprietors had been gracious but hesitant to hire a young lady who was new to the city. Chinese help was cheaper and less likely to cause trouble, they'd told her. Her only offer had come from the owner of a men's haberdashery. He could use a clerk to watch the front counter, or so he'd said, and was willing to pay her on a weekly basis. Claire had declined the offer, sensing that the balding man in wire-rimmed spectacles had had more in mind than her ability to dust shelves and address delivery slips for his well-to-do customers.

  Exhausted from trekking all over the city, Claire looked for someplace to sit down and feel sorry for herself. She gazed longingly across the street at a stately hotel, painted a pristine white. The hotel literally turned the corner in an assertive manner with its lobby entrance facing California Street and a secondary entrance facing Taylor Street. The building's triangular shape did nothing to distract the eye from its elegant architecture. The apex of the triangle was a rounded corner tower with large bay windows. The turret roof was delicately ridged with cast-iron finials. Four stories high with plaster medallions decorating the thick window panels that artfully separated the second and third floors, the hotel looked like an oasis for the wealthy. Thick green ferns grew in fat-bellied ceramic pots near the front door, currently being held open by a uniformed attendant. Claire got a brief view of the lobby. It looked cool and inviting and she wished she had the courage to stroll inside so she could sit down on one of the red velvet settees. Settling for a bench near the entrance, Claire made herself as comfortable as the weathered wood would allow.

  She was debating whether or not to return to the boarding house when she realized that hotels needed maids. Although the idea of changing bed linens and fetching towels for strangers didn't appeal to her, Claire knew she couldn't afford to be choosy about how she made the money she needed, as long as she earned her wages honestly.

  Guided by necessity, she crossed the street and approached the hotel. Once she was inside, she hesitated. How did one go about asking for a job in a hotel? Thinking the desk clerk might offer her some guidance, she dried her sweaty hands by pretending to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt as she approached the oak counter. A young man with chestnut hair, a lean face, and an even leaner body, wearing a white shirt and dark brown jacket, greeted her with a cordial smile.

  “May I help you?” he said, sounding even younger than he looked.

  Claire returned his smile with one of her own, not realizing that the expression changed her already pretty face into one that stole the young man's breath for a moment. “Is the hotel manager available?” she asked, deciding the manager probably did the hiring and firing. The owner would be too busy counting his fortune. The hotel was even grander on the inside than it was on the outside and Claire realized the cost of a room for one night was probably more than she'd paid Mrs. Kruger in the three weeks she'd been living at the boarding house. “If so, I would like to speak with him."

  “I hope everything is to your satisfaction,” the clerk said, looking a little worried. “We pride ourselves on making our guests comfortable."

  “I'm sure you do,” Claire replied. “But I'm not a guest.” The young man's brown eyes narrowed just a bit. It wasn't unusual for the male guests of the hotel to arrange discreet liaisons during their stay, but this girl didn't look like anyone's mistress. He studied her for a moment, noting that her features were delicate without being frail and that although her dress wasn't as expensive as the ones he was accustomed to seeing, it was well made and fashionable.

  “Is there something I can do for you?” he asked.

  Realizing that she was going to have to get past the desk clerk before she could see the manager, Claire took a more direct approach. “I'm looking for a job."

  It was easy to see that the young man didn't believe her. His eyes went from skeptical to suspicious in a blink of brown lashes. “What kind of job?"

  Grateful that the lobby was void of guests for the moment, Claire glanced over her shoulder to make sure the man stationed at the door was still at his post. She moved closer to the counter, reminding herself that she couldn't let her pride stand in the way of doing what had to be done. “I thought to inquire about a position as a maid."

  The clerk went back to looking skeptical. “You want to work as a hotel maid?"

  Claire let out
a small sigh. “It isn't exactly a question of wanting,” she replied quietly. “It's more a matter of having a roof over my head and food on the table."

  Working in a hotel had taught Andy to be a quick but accurate judge of character and something about the young lady standing in front of him caused his instincts to come alive.

  “What's your name?"

  “Claire Aldrich."

  “Please have a seat, Miss Aldrich,” Andy said, motioning toward one of the three settees positioned strategically about the elegant lobby. “I'll see if Mr. Landauer has time to speak with you."

  Smiling her thanks, Claire sat down and waited while the young man disappeared up the wide carpeted staircase that led to the hotel's upper floors. Thinking to calm her quivering nerves and take her mind off the interview ahead, she studied her surroundings. The lobby was a wide room with a parquet floor done in a singular design of golden oak. The front windows were dressed in a bluish gray velvet, pulled back and secured with thick gold braids. In addition to the three settees, there were several balloon-backed chairs and small oval tables. A brass gaslight chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling. Crystal prisms dripped off the chandelier's brass stems like tiny jewels and large white globes diffused the light and directed it toward the ceiling rather than the floor. Large ceramic pots brimming with tropical ferns filled in the corners of the rectangular room.

  While Claire gazed at the hotel's elegance in silent awe, one of its owners was pacing the office on the second floor.

  “The idea isn't ludicrous,” Garrett argued. “All I need is a beautiful woman who's more interested in money than marriage. I'll hire her to pose as my fiancée."

  “That's the problem,” Christopher insisted. “Finding a woman who's more interested in money than marriage makes whoever you find the wrong kind of woman. Grams isn't going to accept a gold digger and she's seen enough of them to know one on sight. Besides, proper young ladies aren't for hire. They're for marrying. The very thing you're trying to avoid."

  Garrett was opening his mouth to protest when a knock on the door interrupted him.

  “Come in,” Christopher Landauer called out.

  Andy opened the door and poked his head inside. “Excuse me, Mr. Landauer, but there's a young lady in the lobby looking for a job."

  “Let Crawford talk to her. That's what I pay him for,” Christopher said, somewhat surprised that Andy would interrupt him for such a thing.

  He watched as the clerk scratched his head, then frowned. “I don't think ... I mean, I don't feel like that would be the right thing to do in this instance. There's something about her that..."

  “What something?” Garrett prompted impatiently. He did own half the hotel, after all.

  “I'm not sure,” Andy said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “For one thing, she's too pretty to be a maid."

  Christopher shared the same admiration for the opposite sex as his friend. But unlike Garrett, he wasn't always discreet in expressing that admiration. “How pretty?"

  Andy smiled, then blushed. He was trying to think of the right words to describe Claire Aldrich when Christopher instructed him to bring the girl upstairs.

  “I'll talk to her. It's better than wasting my time trying to convince my partner that he's lost his mind."

  Knowing better than to interfere in what was none of his business, Andy exited the room with a quick nod.

  “I haven't lost my mind.” Garrett glared at his best friend. “The more I think about it, the more the idea appeals to me. I can keep Grams from worrying herself to death and discourage Belinda Belton at the same time. Once my engagement is announced, I'll be as good as married. I'll be off the market, so to speak."

  Another knock kept Christopher from continuing their argument. The two men waited as Andy opened the door and motioned a woman inside. Garrett felt his frustration over his grandmother's health take on a different form as the job-seeking young lady walked into the hotel office. Petite, but definitely full grown, she had honey brown hair and wide amber eyes that reminded Garrett of a curious kitten. Her features were classically delicate and there was a determined tilt to her chin. Her pink, bow-shaped mouth practically begged to be kissed, but Garrett was willing to bet a sizable fortune that she'd never been touched by a man. Everything about her shouted innocence.

  Chapter Two

  Claire took one look at the dark-haired man and felt something inside her pop open like a bottle of French champagne exploding when the cork was removed. The feeling was so distinct that for a moment she was tempted to gather up the skirts of her chocolate-colored dress and run out of the hotel. His silvery eyes continued to appraise her as Claire stepped into the room, assuming that one of two well-dressed men was the manager of the hotel.

  “Andy's right,” the second man said, stepping forward. “You're much too pretty to be a maid."

  The compliment gained Claire's attention. “Are you the hotel manager?"

  “I'm Christopher Landauer. I own this hotel. Actually, I own half of it. May I introduce my partner, Garrett Monroe."

  The dark-haired man nodded his head in silent acknowledgement, then smiled. Claire felt her stomach quiver then knot. When she looked into his face, she felt the same strange sensation she'd experienced when she'd walked into the room. It was more intense this time, and much more intriguing, as if the man possessed some deep dark secret and she was destined to be the woman to discover it.

  Realizing that she was staring, Claire forced her reverie aside and remembered her manners. “Mr. Monroe,” she said.

  Garrett frowned slightly as he studied her more carefully. It was a pity that she was a virgin. The thought of watching those jeweled eyes burn with passion sent a rush of heat through his body. The stubborn tilt of her chin said she wouldn't surrender to temptation easily, but once conquered she would be a willing participant, demanding as much from her partner as he did from her.

  Realizing his mind was wandering, Garrett stepped forward. “And you are, Miss ... ?"

  “Claire Aldrich."

  “Please, sit down, Miss Aldrich.” He indicated one of the chairs that faced the desk. “Andy, have some lemonade brought up for our guest."

  The desk clerk nodded, then closed the door with a soft click. Claire almost sighed out loud at the thought of a cold drink. She was thirsty from the long walk up the hill. Taking a moment to smooth the full skirt she was wearing, she tried not to look at either of the hotel owners. Although Mr. Landauer was handsome enough in his own right with tawny brown hair and warm brown eyes, there was no comparing him to the tall man whose smile made her heart flutter and her knees go weak.

  She knew who Garrett Monroe was. Because she was concerned that Donald might have gotten himself into some sort of trouble, Claire read every word in the city papers, searching for some scrap of news about her brother. She'd seen Garrett Monroe's name in print more than once in the last three weeks. He lived on Nob Hill with his grandmother. He owned one of the city's most successful banks, which he used to finance hotels and other investments. He'd just returned from England, or so she'd read.

  He was also considered the city's most eligible bachelor.

  Seeing him in the flesh convinced Claire that the newspapers weren't speculating on Garrett Monroe's popularity with the ladies. He was devastatingly handsome. The dark gray suit he was wearing was impeccably tailored and his highly polished boots were made of expensive leather. His raven hair absorbed the sunlight streaming through the bay windows. It looked like India ink and Claire knew it would feel soft against her fingers. His eyes were an eerie blend of silver and gray and somehow she knew instinctively that they got darker when he was angry. Garrett Monroe wouldn't be a gracious enemy. He looked as powerful as he was handsome, and she imagined that he wielded his wealth and influence like an ancient sword, severing the political and financial heads of anyone who didn't bow to his wishes.

  “Are you new to the city, Miss Aldrich?"

  Mr. Landauer's ques
tion forced Claire's whimsical thoughts back to the present. “Yes. I arrived by train three weeks ago. I expected to find my brother waiting for me at the station."

  “But he wasn't there,” Christopher supplied the sad ending to Claire's once-hopeful westward adventure. “And now you're seeking employment in my hotel."

  Claire nodded. Mr. Landauer was looking at her with more than a glint in his eye, but she didn't feel offended as she had been earlier in the haberdashery when the balding shop owner had stared at her. The gentlemen in the room might be predatory in their nature, but they were gentlemen, and she knew she wasn't in any immediate danger. As for the future, she'd have to be very careful. She was innocent, but she wasn't naïve. A woman's reputation was like her virginity, once lost, it couldn't be regained.

  A soft knock preceded the desk clerk. He was carrying an oval tray with a pitcher of lemonade and several glasses. He sat the tray on the edge of the desk then turned to leave, but not before he gave Claire a mischievous wink. She was pondering the reason behind the unexpected gesture when Garrett stepped forward and poured her a glass of lemonade. She found herself studying his hands as he went about the task. His skin was bronzed, his fingers lean, and his nails clean and well manicured. Claire wondered if he had inherited his dark coloring from the original dons who had once owned the Presidio of Yerba Buena.

  One thought led to another and Claire quickly found herself thinking fanciful thoughts about the romantic days of Spanish guitars and bullfights. When Garrett handed her the glass, their hands touched. Claire wasn't wearing gloves and she almost flinched from the contact. Stopping herself at the last moment, she thanked him for the drink and forced herself to sip it slowly. She might not come from money like Garrett Monroe, but she had impeccable manners. Mrs. Shurman had seen to that, along with Claire's education. She could play piano and her literary repertoire included Shakespeare and Byron.